Advent Infidelity Drabbles
by WhatWldMrsWeasleyDo
Summary: Infidelity drabbles for Advent. Seamus makes an impulse buy for a secret obsession. Rating for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Prompt: 1: The Wrong Gift

Notes: Written for lj "hp_unfaithful"'s Pseudo-Advent Calendar Festlet.

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Seamus clutched his bags to his chest as he climbed the steps to their flat, but he needn't have worried: Dean was in the studio as usual. Diagon Alley had been hectic, so he put the kettle on and peeked into his bags. The cashmere sweater for his Ma took up most of the room in the first bag, but Seamus knew what was underneath it.

He checked the kitchen door, although Dean seldom stopped working between meals. Then he eased back the soft wool and looked at the wooden sticks. It had been an impulsive move, buying the drumsticks. Reckless. Just, when he saw them he had instantly imagined them gripped in dark, sweaty hands, flying about in front of a bare, muscular chest. It was ridiculous. Seamus was almost as old as the boy's father, George Weasley. He couldn't stop thinking about Freddie, though.

The youngsters had a band. It was cute. It was the sort of normal thing which Seamus and George and their contemporaries hadn't been able to do. Sure, the sound they made was rubbish. But when Freddie was on the drums and had his shirt off, then Seamus couldn't hear or smell or taste anything anyway.

He had noticed that the lad's drumsticks were starting to split with all the hard treatment they got. At the time, Seamus had only wondered whether Freddie was as rough on himself when he wanked. Then he'd been shopping, and he'd seen the sticks. He'd bought a few bits and bobs for Dean. There was a fob watch which Seamus thought was nice enough, but probably Dean wouldn't bother to wear it. There was the same old cologne as always, a new set of Dean's brand of paintbrushes as usual and some chocolates and some socks.

The kettle boiled and Seamus made himself a cup of tea to take into the bedroom to do the wrapping. Dean wouldn't be surprised if he locked the door, not at this time of year. Not that Dean ever went near their bedroom except to sleep in it at night these days. Seamus tipped out the purchases on the bed and summoned the giftwrap, spellotape and scissors. His guilt made him speed up the job. The drumsticks were an awkward shape. There was every chance that they'd slip forwards, tear through the paper, and reveal his secret lust. How would he explain them away if they did? There was a cardboard box in the room, Dean had had paints delivered in it and hadn't bothered to throw it out. He'd just kicked it under the bed with a load of other rubbish. Seamus was glad now. He spelled it to fit the sticks, then laid them into it.

With one trembling finger, he stroked down one drumstick, from tip to base. This was ridiculous. He sucked his finger and thought of Freddie. He ran his wet finger round the tip of the stick. There was a sound outside the door.

Hastily Seamus threw the roll of wrap over the box, nearly dropping everything as he jumped when Dean called through the door, "Fancy a cuppa? It's brass monkeys today!"

"I've got one, but thanks." Seamus hastily closed the box and wrapped the drumsticks before they tempted him further. Then he got on with the rest of his wrapping, letting his mind wander over the various ways in which he could give young Freddie Weasley his gift. He wrote the address labels on the presents for Ireland and stuffed the others into his wardrobe. Feeling very smug about getting the whole procedure finished in one day, he dashed off to the Owl Post before it closed.

It was a couple of days later that they got the invitation to drinks at The Burrow on Christmas Eve. Dean saw it as an opportunity to drum up some commissions; Seamus saw it as an opportunity to give Freddie his drumsticks. While Dean was busy, he slipped into the bedroom, furtive and panicking. He would shrink the gift now, and hide it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. That way he would be ready. He could pounce when he had a chance. It was reckless and stupid. It was the perfect plan.

The pile of gifts in the wardrobe sat and looked at him, all in the same wrap. The long, thin box, that was what he wanted. He shoved the soft package of socks and the flat cuboid of chocolates out of the way, and stared. He heard the kettle going on in the next room. Which box was it? Any minute now, Dean would look in and ask him if he wanted tea. Which were the paintbrushes, and which were the drumsticks? He didn't have time to start unpicking spellotape now. Which was which? Which was which?


	2. Chapter 2

"That's not Uncle Seamus," the little boy said, loudly.

That was exactly what 'Uncle' Seamus – who was standing unseen behind Harry and his family – had been thinking.

"It's just a picture," Harry said vaguely.

"But who is it a picture of?" the child persisted.

From the back, Seamus couldn't tell whether it was James or Albus. He probably should have known – being the kid's pseudo uncle – but he never had been good with kids. He hoped suddenly that Freddie didn't still think of him as his uncle. And then hoped with a strange thrill that he did, or at least that he might call him 'Uncle Seamus', when they were…

"Is it two pictures of the same man next to himself?" the boy asked.

"I was wondering that," Ginny mused.

"Neither of them is Uncle Dean.

" "No, dear." Ginny blushed slightly, like maybe it was slightly racist to notice that both of the men in the picture were white-skinned.

"Why are they only wearing underwear?" the kid asked loudly. Seamus had been wondering that. Harry and Ginny hushed the kid and looked round. Were they embarrassed that he'd mentioned underwear, or not sure whether mentioning the semi-nudity was sort of homophobic?

Harry straightened awkwardly when he spotted Seamus. "Ah. Seamus."

"Ah. Harry. Sorry, I didn't realised that some of Dean's pictures for this exhibition might not be, uh, family friendly."

One of the portrait men looked back over his shoulder with a decidedly lewd pout.

"No, no, it's fine. It's all art, isn't it?" Harry hadn't seen the pout, luckily, and Seamus hoped that the child was too young to understand. Ginny was looking distinctly interested, though.

"Do you know who the men are in that picture?" The boy turned round and looked up at Seamus. Freckles, so that would make him James. Seamus wasn't such a bad pseudo-uncle after all. Not where this one was concerned anyway. George might not approve of some of the thoughts Seamus had been having about _his_ baby boy.

"No, I don't, James. Dean maybe made them up out of his imagination. He does that sometimes." That was a lie. Seamus wondered. He felt the first stirrings of jealousy, but then the parcels in his pocket bumped his chest and reminded him of his hypocrisy. He had pocketed both of them in the end, hoping to slip into the loos tonight and pick off enough spellotape to work out which was which. He was going to wear the same suit to drinks at The Burrow at the end of the week. It crossed Seamus' mind that he could try to engage the portrait men in conversation and find out what had gone on that way. They looked similar to each other, but not quite the same. Twins or brothers, maybe? Luna's twins weren't old enough yet, they were all youthful gangle. The two who had sat for Dean were fully developed adult men. Seamus wondered. They didn't seem to be anyone he knew. One of the men in the portrait stroked a hand down the arm of the other. Harry noticed Ginny's interest.

Across the room, Dean watched Seamus, his lover of nearly two decades, until he was accosted by an elderly woman with a flamingo walking stick.

"Don't you think it's all dreadfully shocking, young man?" she demanded.

"Um, I …" he demurred, lost for words. He should find it easier than he did to defend his work.

"Absolutely appalling! We painted nothing but bowls of fruit in my day." Her lip quirked.

With a thrill, Dean checked her left wrist. There it was, the friendship band of lilac, navy and gold threads. He chuckled. "Is that right? Well then this must be quite a treat for you, madam.

" "I'm not sure my poor old heart can stand the excitement." She followed Dean's gaze across the room. "Do you think he suspects?"

"Suspects what?" Dean asked. "That I've been misbehaving with my models, or that both of them are you, Teddy Lupin?"


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt: 3:A picture of coloured condoms.

It was the colours which attracted Teddy first. They made him think of Dean. These days everything made him think of Dean. Dean had such an amazing eye for colours. He had opened Teddy's mind up to beauty. He had broadened Teddy's horizons in a lot of ways over the past couple of months.

"What do you think of this?" Victoire called over. "I think Grandpa would like it!" She had some strange sparkly headband on her head, it looked like it had actual electricks lights on it. Teddy didn't know whether that was safe. He just shrugged.

That was why they were in the Muggle shop in the first place – Arthur Weasley's Christmas present.

"Isn't it for wit— women?" he asked.

This time she was the one who shrugged and she went back to her browsing.

Teddy's attention returned to the pretty colours of the round things. Wondering what they were actually for, he turned the packet over. He found himself frozen to the spot, staring at the improbable instructions. He swallowed as his imagination furnished him with an image of Dean's thick, brown cock as Teddy rolled the turquoise sheath over it. Or the pink. Sweet Merlin! In a rush, he remembered where he was and looked round. Shit! Someone was bound to notice his erection. He needed to get that under control before it became a full-blown problem.

Dean was Muggle-raised. Dean wouldn't even need the instructions.

They were flavoured. Why were they flavoured? Teddy's mouth watered. The insides of his cheeks remembered the pressure of Dean's cock on them. The flat of his tongue stroked the roof of his mouth. Teddy could taste the banana flavouring while Dean was wearing it.

Teddy had to have them. Victoire mustn't see them, though. What if she got interested and wanted to read the packet herself? No. That couldn't happen. Teddy didn't have any Muggle money. She had all the Muggle money.

He scoped out the situation, trying to think round the confusion of his arousal. The shop was hot. Or that might just have been him. The shop was busy. Victoire did look tired. The queue at the till was long. He could handle this.

He subtly adjusted himself with his back to the shop, and then strolled as confidently as he could over to his wife.

He picked up a flashing headband from the shelf. "This is perfect, darling. You're so clever to find it." He squeezed her hand. "We can't have you standing in that queue, though, not in your condition." He stroked her swollen belly. "You need a sit-down, especially if you're going to survive this Christmas Eve drinks do at The Burrow tonight. Why don't you give me the Muggle money and I'll stand in that horrible long line while you go across to that coffee shop and get yourself a nice hot chocolate or something? I'll join you in a minute." He gave her a dismissive pat on the bottom.

"Oh no, silly, there's a much longer queue in Starbucks than there is here, and we can use the self-service check-outs here! Let me show you how they work! There's one free now!" Victoire dragged him over to the corner of the shop, as his heart sank. "It's ever so clever. You just wave the thingy in front of it and it beeps and tells you how much it costs. And then you put it in the bag and it weighs it and everything. Grandpa showed me last week!"


	4. Chapter 4

Prompt 4: The Yule Ball.

Notes: Written for "hp_unfaithful"'s Pseudo-Advent Calendar Festlet. Thanks to XxTaintedxDaggerxX for reading and commenting!

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It was strange to be going back to school. They were only the support act and they probably wouldn't have been booked if Constance hadn't been Professor Longbottom's wife's niece. Still, they had been booked to play the Yule Ball and they were getting paid. Freddie had spent plenty of Balls gazing up at the stage and wishing he was playing there. Now he was.

He had been excited for weeks, but the moment he'd walked through those old gates and seen the turrets, his stomach had tightened with that old sick feeling. He knew he never had to sleep in a dorm again, or do homework again, or do another detention. He knew it really. He was coming back as an adult. He had spent the last year and a half out of school in the adult. He was all grown up in every way that counted. Well, except that one. But finding someone to do that with would mean admitting things to people and he didn't want to do that.

They waited for the main act to finish their sound-check. The familiar Great Hall smell made Freddie edgy. The rest of the band were jumpy because they were over-excited. Freddie played with his drumsticks. It was his nervous thing. He had to stop himself, though. They were cracked already; if he wasn't careful they would split before he got on stage.

His schooldays hadn't been the best of his life. The way Dad had told it, in his day it had been all jokes and pranks. From what Mum said, she'd played Quidditch all day. They had been popular. Roxanne was here now and she was popular. Freddie had never known the cool thing to say. Each year it had got less comfortable. Finally it had got to the point where he was either going to have to get a girlfriend or get too strong to beat up. He had weighed his options and started exercising.

Sat on the edge of the stage after their rushed sound-check, they watched the school kids troop in. Freddie pulled out his drumsticks and twirled them once before getting a splinter in his finger. Sebastian, Lysander and Constance were getting loud and hyped up; Dominique and Corvus were whispering excitedly. Freddie couldn't manage to catch their mood. The old school feeling was killing it. His hands were cramping. He didn't know whether he could do this. He felt the need to fiddle with his drumsticks but he didn't dare.

He recognised a few of the faces in the audience: Roxanne and her mates, little cousin Molly, the teachers. Rushing in at the back, looking out of breath, was Seamus Finnigan. Freddie couldn't see why he'd be here. He wasn't connected to the school. Still, it was nice to see him.

Dean and Seamus were the only gay couple Freddie knew. More importantly, they were the only gay couple his parents knew, and his parents liked them. They were the only evidence he had that his parents might accept it when he eventually came out himself. They had been together forever, thus disproving all his dad's suspicions about gays being promiscuous. They were faithful and loyal, a proper couple. And that was good.

At the same time, much as he needed them to stay faithful to each other, he liked to fantasise that Seamus might not. Seamus was cute. He smiled at him sometimes in a way that made Freddie feel attractive. He looked over now and gave Freddie a wave. Freddie grinned and waved back. The wave had probably been meant for the whole band, but it still made Freddie feel special.

Freddie couldn't help worrying about whether he was ever going to find a boyfriend of his own. It wasn't likely, not if he never let anyone know that's what he wanted. Even if he had someone, he probably wouldn't know what to do with them. He was bound to get sex wrong, just like he got everything else wrong. What he really wanted was someone experienced to show him what to do.

He looked over towards Seamus as he had that thought and was surprised to see the man red-faced and pushing through the crowd towards the stage.

"Ok, people! Places! Let's play this gig!" Corvus called out in a voice that was too loud and too tight.

"Hang on a minute—" Freddie started, but his band-mates didn't hear him because they were all jumping to their feet.

He pulled out his drum-sticks and tapped at his knee with them. He should go back to his drums. Seamus was nearly at the front, though. Freddie gave him a shy smile. Seamus blushed a deeper red and grinned back. He looked behind him. The guitarists were picking up their guitars. That tingling hush was starting in the crowd. Freddie thought he'd just give it a couple of minutes. He looked out into the Hall. They'd never played to this many before. Suddenly, he was desperate for a piss.

"Alright, so. Good luck." Seamus shouted.

"Right. Thanks."

Seamus pushed past a couple of rows of kids with a few "Excuse me"s. Then he was close enough for a conversation at a normal level. Freddie grinned encouragingly. Seamus moved his mouth like he was nervous.

Finally he cleared his throat and said. "Right. So. Good luck, then."

Freddie nodded. He twirled a drumstick between his fingers.

"Oh, right! Yes, that's it—" Seamus' lips kept moving, but his words were lost under a scream of feedback.

Seamus pulled a package out of his suit pocket as the sound died away. He looked kind of over-dressed, but Freddie decided it was cool in a mature way. Like suave. The package was wrapped in Christmas paper. Seamus started to speak again, just as Lysander started apologising into the mic for the feedback.

"Happy Christmas!" Seamus yelled, and handed Freddie the gift.

Freddie felt himself heating up. "Oh, but I haven't got you any—" This was weird. Dean and Seamus never gave him a gift. Why hand it over here? They were all going to be at The Burrow tomorrow. Why was Seamus even here? Freddie needed to get behind his drum-kit; they were about to start.

"No, no, you don't need to." Seamus flapped dismissively.

"I've got to go." Freddie indicated the rest of the band. He slipped the gift into the pocket of his shirt. He would need to be careful, he nearly always got too hot when they were playing and then he had to take his shirt off.

"Open it now," Seamus urged. "Before you start."

"Ok." Freddie backed off. He had to get to the drums. He picked at the spellotape. It looked like it had already been opened.

"See you later!" Seamus called, then dipped his head like he shouldn't have said that.

Freddie tore the paper and sat down on his stool.

Dominique was glaring at him. "If you're quite ready?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He settled himself and got out his knackered old drumsticks. He slipped off the paper and looked at his gift as the lights faded.


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt: 5: These pictures: . /snegurochka_lee/5460210/11281/11281_ and . /snegurochka_lee/5460210/11549/11549_ .

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Seamus thought he looked cool. He was trying for cool, anyway. He was wearing his new hat and it went ok with his old suit. The upstairs bar of the Three Broomsticks was a bit sophisticated, and he didn't think he looked too out of place. He casually sipped his drink and hoped nobody noticed the sweating of his palms and the Ceilidh rhythm hammering out his heartbeat.

He hadn't fancied the downstairs bar tonight. The Yule ball had just finished and it was full of schoolkids. He'd got to the age where he liked to be able to find a seat, not to mention the danger that one of them might recognise him and report back to their parents. He didn't want to get a reputation for trying to pick up schoolkids. It was bad enough being infatuated with a lad who'd not long left Hogwarts.

He hoped that Freddie would know to come and look for him up here. He'd overheard a pair of lasses saying that the band were coming back here for a drink after the gig (…so we might get to talk to Corvus, and Corvus is so dreamy…). He'd thought that most of the audience were going to stay in the Great Hall partying it up, but of course once the school had opened up the Yule Ball to the younger years, the older ones had looked for somewhere else to go on to. (…let's get out before someone suggests Pass the Parcel…).

Noise drifted up from the kids downstairs, but this bar was quiet enough. Seamus just hoped that Freddie would come up here. There was no real reason why he should, of course.

Seamus had only found out that Freddie's band were playing the Yule Ball that afternoon. Not having children at the school, he hadn't even known when the Ball was. He had just happened to pop into the Leaky after work, and Hannah had mentioned it. Neville had gone back for it, so he wasn't helping her out. She'd been complaining.

Seamus had downed his drink and rushed home, not sure why. He had changed into his suit because the drumsticks were in the pocket. The paintbrushes were safe in the wardrobe now. He was sure it was the paintbrushes. Well, there had still been some doubt then, but there wasn't anymore. He'd just thought he'd Floo up to the castle, hand over the gift and wish the boy luck, then Floo back again before Dean missed him. Dean was in the studio. He always was these days.

Freddie's face had lit up so prettily when he saw the drumsticks, though. He'd searched the crowd for Seamus and there had been a moment of calm before the guitar began when they had smiled at each other. So then Seamus hadn't wanted to leave without seeing them used.

'Do you want to buy me a drink?'

Seamus had noticed the woman at the other end of the bar. He'd thought in a disinterested way that she was glamorous. He hadn't expected her to approach him. Maybe he did look alright in that new hat after all.

'Sorry, love.' He pulled a regretful face.

She slid into the stool next to his. That was no good. 'Don't tell me I'm going to have to buy you one.'

'No, love. Sorry, I'm just waiting for someone.'

'I'm someone.'

'A specific someone.'

'I think you might have been stood up, you've been waiting for three drinks.' She crossed her shapely legs. It made her short, tight skirt ride even higher up her thighs. 'So why don't you enjoy my company instead?'

'Sorry. You're not my type.'

She tipped her head to one side and looked at him through her lashes. 'Oh, I'm everybody's type, darling.'

Seamus turned his back to her. He lit a cigar and watched the smoke, hoping that she'd notice that she was being ignored. His type was the exact opposite to her: young, black, broad-shouldered and male. He'd flung his shirt away after the second song and Seamus had been captivated by the coloured lights reflecting in the shine of sweat on his gorgeous chest muscles, by the light hair and the dark nipples. There was no way he could tear himself away. He had yet to work out what he was going to say to Dean when he did go home. Then, when the crowd had cheered the last song, Freddie had stood up and he'd raised those new drumsticks to his lips and he'd kissed them. Seamus squirmed on his stool. It got him heated just thinking about it. Those lips against that shaft.

'I only asked for a measly drink, you tight arse!' the woman snapped. She got off the stool.

Seamus ignored her and finished his drink. He smoked his cigar. He concentrated on looking cool.

'It's quiet up here.'

Seamus' head snapped round so fast he nearly overbalanced. 'Er. Yeah,' he squeaked.

Freddie was standing next to him. Actual Freddie. Actually there. He had his shirt back on, but he looked even more gorgeous than he had done on the stage, because he was looking right at Seamus. Only Seamus. And he was looking shy and sweet.

'Erm. Sit down? Drink?' Seamus managed. 'You have to get back down to the rest of them?' Smooth. Very cool. He'd be sending the boy off in the other direction if he wasn't careful.

'No, it's too much for me down there. I was going to sneak home, but then I just thought I'd check up here.' A broad, bright grin split his face. 'So glad I did.' Then he looked flustered and he looked down at his feet as he sat down on the stool next to Seamus.

'So this is more your type, is it?' The woman sneered.

Seamus hadn't noticed her coming back over. He kept ignoring her.

'This who you were waiting for, was it?'

He felt himself blushing. To hide his embarrassment from Freddie, he snapped at the woman, 'Would you just let me have a drink in peace?'

She twisted her beautiful face into something quite ugly, sniffed, and clattered away down the stairs on her ridiculous heels.

'Were you waiting for someone?' Freddie asked, quietly anxious.

'Well, no, I just…' Seamus swallowed. 'I was just hoping you might…'

Freddie grinned again and Seamus couldn't do anything but grin right back at him.

'Great gig.'

'Thanks. Thanks for the drumsticks. Made all the difference.'

'No, you always sound brilliant. I just wanted to, um…' Seamus tailed off, no idea what he had been about to say, lost in those big, brown eyes, which shone at this moment just for him.

Outside in Hogsmeade, the lady from the bar tripped away on her silly heels as far as the closest dark alley. There she metamorphed back into a young man with blue hair and a sickly smug grin, before he Apparated home to his pregnant wife.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warnings**: Swearing. Light BDSM, role play, spanking, oral sex.

* * *

Teddy took Victoire to her midwitchery appointment the next morning as arranged. They were on the home stretch of the pregnancy now, so this was going to be a long, thorough check-up. Perfect. Teddy Flooed straight from there into Dean's studio as arranged.

He stepped from the flames into the perfect Christmas present and groaned loudly, safe in his trust of Dean's silencing charms. Lying on the floor was a giant canvas, and on that was the most beautiful artwork Teddy had ever seen: Dean on all-fours wearing nothing but a few artful spots of paint and a leather collar.

Dean bared his teeth and growled low in his throat.

"Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, honey," Teddy replied.

He had never known before. Before Victoire his sex life had been populous but vanilla. The only variety anyone had ever wanted from him involved his metamorphmagus abilities. Victoire only ever wanted everything straight. That had been great at first; she loved him just as he was. Then Dean had asked him to model and his mind had been opened. Dean was the first lover ever to put on a show for Teddy, instead of expecting Teddy to do all the performing.

Dean barked.

"Bad Doggy," Teddy murmured. He took his time, walking round, examining Dean as though he were an artwork in a gallery. Dean watched him out of the corners of his dark eyes, growling occasionally. Finally, Teddy squatted beside his lover and stroked the palm of his hand over his bald head, over his neck and down his bare back. "Good boy."

Dean stuck out his long, pale tongue and panted happily. Teddy stroked him several times and then at the end of one stroke, he let his hand rest on Dean's left buttock. He felt the muscles tense under him in anticipation. He waited, letting the silence seep through them both and ring around the room. Then he raised his palm and brought it down hard.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, but said nothing. Teddy stroked his hand lower and then smacked again. Dean whimpered.

"Who's my good boy, then?" Teddy soothed, before spanking him again. "How many days until Christmas?" he asked. "One!" He spanked Dean once. "How many days of Christmas?" Teddy licked over Dean's hot, red buttock. Then, "One" smack! "Two" smack! "Three"… all the way up to twelve, by which time Dean was sweating and rocking and whining. Teddy took pity on him and gripped the hard, straining cock which had swung between his legs with the impact of every blow.

"On the twelfth day of Christmas," Teddy said, "your true love gave to you, a mind-blowingly fantastic blow job." And so he did.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes:** Written for lj hp_unfaithful's Pseudo-Advent Calendar Festlet for prompt 8, a picture of a naked pregnant lady. I know it's not Advent any more and I apologise for the delay.

* * *

Victoire ran her hand down her full belly. Not long now. She took a deep breath. The medi-witch had left her alone to get dressed but she was taking it slowly.

She was glad that Teddy had left her to it. Some partners would have insisted on being around for tests, scans and medi-witch appointments and she didn't think she could have coped with that. It was bad enough being prodded and palpated and having wands stuck all over the place. She didn't want Teddy seeing her so humiliated. It was a good thing that he knew how to keep himself busy elsewhere. She was his goddess and that was how she liked it. There was no way he was going to be at the birth.

It was good to know that the baby was healthy. There were a few creature strains and other genetic oddities in their two families so she'd had to have more tests than most almost-mothers. Luckily the baby was completely and utterly normal.

Not Metamorphmagus: which didn't mean anything. Sometimes that got passed on and sometimes it didn't. A positive result might have been reassuring in one way. In another, though, parenting was bound to be easier with a child who couldn't disguise herself at will. Victoire would have known for sure, though. She'd almost asked the medi-witch to test for skin colour, but she couldn't bring herself to let the woman know that there was any doubt.

Teddy would be in the waiting room by now. He had probably rushed back and now she was standing around doing nothing and making him wait. Victoire started to dress. The medi-witch would be waiting, too, to give her the parchment with all the results on. The only things Victoire didn't know about her baby now were what she looked like and who her daddy was.


	8. Chapter 8

**Prompt:** 9: Boxing Day.

Dean was supposed to be clearing the sitting room. He waved a half-hearted wand at the pine needles under the tree. Seamus was clattering about in the kitchen. Dean stooped and picked up a scrap of discarded wrapping paper by hand. It meant something, or reminded him of something. It was the gift wrap Seamus had used this year: red with a gold holly pattern. He'd seen it or something like it somewhere significant.

This was all Teddy's fault. It had been supposed to be a game, an experiment. A mid-life crisis. There were things Dean had got interested in recently. Teddy had offered him a chance to try them out. It had been nice. Nice enough. It wasn't like he could have asked Seamus to do anything disgusting like that. Seamus would have lost respect. That would have been unbearable.

Dean could hardly remember now why he'd carried on with it all. There had been that first time, and after that he'd known how it felt. So why had he kept trying things? Why had he locked his studio off, invited Teddy in through the Floo, and kept at it: trying bizarre and kinky and dirty things? The memories numbed him now.

He was scared. He couldn't bear to think of Teddy anymore. He just wanted things to go back to normal with Seamus. Only Teddy had planted a seed and it was probably nothing, but now Dean couldn't shake it.

After the spanking on Christmas Eve, before Teddy had Floo-ed back to the hospital, Teddy had started talking. Dean hadn't wanted to hear, he'd asked, "Don't you have to get back to your wife now?"

Clearly disappointed, Teddy had answered. "I s'pose so. Unless you want me to leave her and move in with you?"

"Don't be stupid!" Dean had snapped back. He'd started cleaning up and dressing, not looking at Teddy.

"Why not?"

"Seamus."

"Leave him," Teddy had whined.

Dean had stared at him then. "No! Never. Look Teddy, I love Seamus. This is just a game. You love Victoire. Come on, don't start this. Get dressed."

"Love Seamus? Precious Seamus! You don't even know him. You don't know what he gets up to!"

Dean had been grateful for the Silencing charm; Teddy had been shouting. He was shouting nonsense, of course. But the words had been said. The seed had been planted.

"Get out." Dean had kept his own voice very quiet. "I don't think you should come back."

"I saw him, Dean. At the Broomsticks, and he wasn't on his own—"

"Out!" Dean had commanded before leaving the studio. He hadn't wanted to hear.

But the wrapping paper. There was something about it. When he'd seen it covering his own gifts from Seamus on Christmas morning, he had recognised it from somewhere.

Teddy had approached Dean at the Christmas Eve party at the Burrow, wanting to show him something. Dean hadn't wanted to see it, hadn't wanted anything more to do with Teddy. He hoped Teddy had the message now. They were all going to be at Harry's New Year's party. Dean couldn't think of an excuse to get out of that.

"Are you going to get dressed at all today?" Seamus asked from the doorway. "We have got a Quidditch match to get ourselves to."

"Yeah, sure. Sorry." Dean couldn't seem to get himself together. His brain ran over and over and never ended up finding anything. Christmas day had been busy. They'd been at his mum's and it was always mental. Now they were going out to watch some match because Bill Weasley's son was playing. All Dean wanted was some time to get his head together. Damn! Victoire would be there to watch her brother; her husband would be there too.

"I thought you were going to be tidying up in here. It doesn't look like you've done a thing."

Dean stood up and looked Seamus in the eye. "I'm sorry."

"Right. So. Look, the food's all packed. You get on and get yourself dressed now before we're late."

"Seamus!" Dean crossed the room. "I love you."

"Right enough. Now get over yourself and get those pyjamas off you." Seamus stomped back into the kitchen.

Dean stared at the piece of gift wrap in his hand before slowly heading off to the bedroom to get dressed.


	9. Chapter 9

The Old Year Ends

**Warnings:** Mild violence

_I know it's practically Lent and I apologise for the delay, but I have finally finished this series! None of these are beta-ed, so they are probably full of mistakes. Sorry about that._

* * *

They stood in a group in front of the pale green curtains of Grimmauld Place like a group portrait. Seamus watched them from the other side of the grand sitting room. Seamus couldn't imagine Harry, Ginny and their little ones actually hanging out in this formal splendour; it must have been kept for occasions such as this: the amazing annual New Year's Eve party.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was the tallest, with his great nephew, Dayton, coming a close second. Dayton was new to London, and the ex-Minister had spent the last month or so introducing him to people. Dean and Seamus had met him before, but clearly Lee Jordan hadn't, judging by the hand-shaking that was going on. The lad held Freddie's hand just a little too long for Seamus' liking.

The group fell into an easy conversation full of laughter then and Seamus stayed back to admire the view. There was some kind of comparison of Dayton's neat cut with Freddie's cornrows, Lee's dreads and Dean and Kingsley's bald pates. Dean leaned forward good-naturedly to have his head stroked. Lee's dreads were greying now. In another decade he'd be an impressive silver lion, but for now he had a strange grizzled dip-dye effect.

Seamus had enjoyed some fantasies involving those dreads when he'd been at school! And maybe a few times since. Lee had been his first crush; that had been how he'd found out he was gay. Yes, Seamus had a type. That would be all Dean's fault, of course. Dean had been the first black person, and the first Muggle who Seamus had ever met. It had been thrilling and exotic. The fact that they'd shared a sense of humour and become instant best friends, had been as wonderful and astounding as Dean's CD player and the posters which stayed static. Seamus wondered where that old Dean had gone to. He missed him.

It was no good Dean getting all solicitous this week, though. It was terrible timing. Seamus had been feeling justified and – truth be told – he rather wanted more neglect so he could feel ok about Christmas Eve, and about what he was hoping would happen tonight. He wanted a guilt-free affair with Freddie more than he wanted his old closeness with Dean.

Seamus thought of Christmas Eve, he looked at Freddie's broad fingers and remembered them on his neck, his waist, running through his hair. He looked at Freddie's lips and remembered the feel of them against his own in the dark, damp corridor of the Burrow, which smelled of apples. There had been sweet hesitance at first, followed by a hungry fire and fast movements, their two bodies pressed as close as they could be, but only for a few minutes, until footsteps forced them apart.

Seamus realised that he wasn't the only one watching the tableau of beautiful, dark men. A heavily pregnant Victoire Weasley was being helped into an armchair by her husband, Teddy, but both of them kept shooting glances over to the men at the window.

"Drink?" George offered, breaking into Seamus' thoughts and blocking his view. The tray he held was full of brightly-coloured cocktail glasses, most of which were smoking lightly or sparking.

"You must think I was born yesterday, George Weasley," Seamus replied. "I think I know you well enough by now to know better than to accept a drink you've had a hand in creating! I knew you when you were poisoning First Years with Canary Cremes!"

George laughed. "Those were the days! I'm a reformed character, Mr Finnegan, a respectable family man. Harry just asked me to offer round some—"

"Did he fuck!" Seamus responded, with an approximation of the right friendly smile, but inside his guts had liquefied at George's reference to his family. What the hell would the man do to Seamus if he knew Seamus had been groping his son, if he knew the things Seamus intended for George's baby boy?

Seamus' attention was drawn abruptly back to the group by the window. Dean had grabbed Freddie's jacket, he was pulling something out of Freddie' pocket. It was something red and folded, something with a gold holly leaf pattern on it. The stupid sentimental boy, he'd kept Seamus' wrapping paper on him. He'd used his present – the drumsticks – but he'd kept hold of the giftwrap. Seamus was touched and he was terrified.

Seamus was rooted to the spot, watching Dean as he let go of Freddie to examine the paper. Teddy had joined them, and he was pulling on Dean's arm, trying to get his attention, but Dean was shaking him off. Seamus turned to look at Victoire, to try to judge her reaction to her husband's behaviour. She was mouthing something at someone else in the group, her eyes flicking down to her belly. Seamus tried to work out who she was communicating with, but he was too late, everyone was staring at Teddy now.

Seamus crossed over to them. He stopped himself from looking in Freddie's direction. Teddy's voice was urgent now and he Dean clearly wanted him to shut up. All Seamus caught, though, were the words, "…and here comes your sainted Seamus now. You really think he's worth—"

"Seamus! Darling!" Dean said, too loud, over Teddy, trying to block him off. He had his hands outstretched, empty of the giftwrap now, as though Seamus was going to hold them, which they'd never done in public. And since when did he call Seamus 'darling'?

"You want to know what your precious Seamus has been up to?" Teddy asked.

Freddie's face gave them away; Seamus hoped nobody else had seen that. It had been Teddy's footsteps which had interrupted them on Christmas Eve, but Seamus thought they'd been quick enough, that there'd been nothing to see by the time he turned the corner. What the hell did Teddy know exactly?

"You need to get back to your pregnant wife!" Dean snapped to Teddy.

Seamus was grateful until Teddy replied, "Bit late to start worrying about her, isn't it, Dean?"

Seamus didn't think he wanted to know what that meant, but Teddy decided to explain anyway. His face was changing. It took Seamus a moment to recognise who he was becoming. When he did he gasped. The naked men in Dean's portrait! Teddy? Why not? Of course.

"You recognise me?" Teddy asked. "You want to know what else went on in that studio while I was sitting for that—?"

"Very clever! You've been studying the painting, we're all very impressed." Dean's voice gave him away, though. Seamus knew how he sounded when he was panicking.

Seamus didn't know how to feel. He wanted to feel hurt, but it was muddled by relief that this meant he ihad/i been justified in falling for Freddie; he wanted to feel vindicated, and glad that he had Freddie now, but there was some deep pain which wouldn't let him.

"But the reason you won't leave him for me," Teddy continued, still wearing the face in the portrait, "is because you're trying to protect him, but he doesn't give a damn about you! He's been chasing after—"

"Watch it!" Seamus couldn't help himself. He couldn't let Teddy insult Freddie.

"Yes you have!" Teddy misunderstood. "Remember me?"

Teddy changed himself again, shifted his hair colour, body shape until…

Freddie got it first, his hands went to his stricken face. Seamus looked at him. Overwhelmed by a desire to comfort and protect Freddie, he had to turn away. He turned back to Teddy and saw the woman from the upstairs bar.

"You?" he asked stupidly. He became aware that the other party-goers were looking from him to Dean to Freddie, to Teddy in a red dress.

"Seamus? What?" Dean was asking. He pulled the giftwrap out of his back pocket and started asking, "Why did Freddie have this?"

Teddy rounded on Freddie as he changed back into himself, "What the hell do you think you're playing at, pretending you're so sweet and shy, and chasing after married men?"

"You're a fine one to talk, you little tart!" Seamus countered with.

All of a sudden, there was a low groan from the other side of the room. All heads turned. Victoire!

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean for you to find out like this," Teddy babbled. "I couldn't help it. I love Dean."

He was the last person in the room to understand. She closed herself round her big tummy. Dayton had to yell at Teddy that his wife was going into labour. It was Lee Jordan who shot across the room and placed his protective hands on her shoulders. When the contraction had passed, it was Lee who helped her up and ushered her to the Floo.

All of a sudden, Seamus was being whirled round and a fist cracked against his cheek. He fell back, his eyes closing, a furious, dark face glaring at him. Of course. He should have known better than to worry about George's reaction, when it was Angelina who was really going to kill him for corrupting her son.

* * *

In the treatment room at St Mungo's, Seamus slipped off his wedding band to see how it felt. Dean and Freddie were out in the Waiting Room, glaring at each other. Angelina had been furious when Freddie had accompanied Seamus to the Floo, but not as angry as Dean had been. Seamus thought about Dean with Teddy and wondered how the hell Dean thought he had the right to be the least bit jealous. Still, he slid the ring back on. He hoped his cheek was broken, hoped he'd have to be put to sleep while it got fixed, because that way he wouldn't be able to think for a while. He could postpone all decisions.

Meanwhile, in another part of the hospital, Teddy and Lee held one of Victoire's hands each, and all three of them longed for and dreaded the first sight of her baby.


End file.
